


I Feel Love

by dannyfranx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 12:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4180569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dannyfranx/pseuds/dannyfranx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Author/Artist LJ Name: Anonymous<br/>Songspiration: Stay With Me - Sam Smith<br/>Prompter: arineat<br/>Title: I Feel Love<br/>Prompt Number: 114<br/>Pairing(s): Harry/Draco<br/>Summary: Draco knows it will be the best night of his life. The trouble is, he wants a lot more than that.<br/>Rating: NC17<br/>Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.<br/>Warning(s None, really, it’s pretty fluffy-flangsty-happy. Filth?<br/>Epilogue compliant? No.<br/>Word Count: 3,299<br/>Author's Notes: Thank you to my prompter for an awesome prompt. I have been wanting to write something based on this song since I first heard it. Also thank you to my proofreader for her commas, full stops and gentle nudging throughout this whole process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Feel Love

‘Look what the cat dragged in,’ Draco calls out at the sight of Ron, making his way towards them. The words come out with a lot more gusto than he had originally intended; apparently, he is a little drunker than he thought.

Harry struggles to extract himself from where he has been sitting, pressed against Draco from shoulder to hip, and in doing so is forced to place a steadying hand on Draco’s shoulder. The touch burns through the thin fabric of his shirt and reminds Draco uncomfortably of all the messy squirming feelings that he struggles to keep hidden from his best friend and partner.

‘The man of the moment!’ Harry yells, raising his glass and prompting a roar of approval from their collected colleagues.  ‘Tom! Get this man a drink!’ he calls, and immediately the hunched bartender appears at Ronald’s side, pressing a glass into his hand.  ‘And one for yourself,’ Harry adds, and Draco watches as the bar tender grins and pours himself a cup of coffee.

Draco doesn’t blame him; if Tom had taken up every drink offer this evening he would more than likely be dead by now.  Harry, ridiculously proud to become a Godfather for the second time, has put enough money behind the bar to keep them well and truly kippered until baby Rose receives her Hogwarts letter.

‘To Rose,’ someone shouts and the air is once more filled with voices joining the toast.

‘To Rose,’ Draco says for what has to be the fiftieth time, but he still grins as he says it.  The bemused look of joy on Ron’s face is more than enough to restore his enthusiasm for the celebration and he almost doesn’t notice when Harry flops back down and ends up in his lap. Almost. And he might have been able to forget about it, except for the fact that Harry stays there, casually looping an arm around Draco’s shoulders, as though this is where he had intended to sit all along.

Feeling flustered, Draco is just about to say something—something snarky and light-hearted that won’t run the risk of offending Harry but will get his extremely preoccupying presence off his lap—when Ron squeezes himself into the sliver of space that Harry has vacated and Draco resigns himself to the situation.

‘So, how’s Hermione?’ Harry asks, turning on Draco’s lap so quickly that Draco is forced to wrap an arm around his waist to keep him from overbalancing and ending up under the heavy oak table.

‘She kicked me out,’ Ron says sheepishly, taking a large swig of his drink and wincing. ‘Apparently she needed some sleep and she couldn’t do it with me “fluttering about the place”.’

‘So, she won’t be cross that you’re down the pub,’ Draco asks, trying to focus on anything other than the warm, tactile man squirming in his lap.

‘I think she’s just pleased I’m out of her hair,’ Ron admits. ‘Still, I probably shouldn’t stay too long.  I think she’ll be less than sympathetic if I show up to bring my baby daughter home from the hospital with a hangover and stinking of booze.’

‘I think it would probably be the last thing you do,’ Harry agrees, draining his glass and motioning to Tom for another round.

‘I ought to think about calling it a day soon as well,’ Draco admits, and immediately he is thinking longingly of his cool, quiet apartment, slipping between the crisp cotton sheets and relieving himself of the frustration caused by this pliant man, whom he has loved for almost longer than he can remember, and who currently has his thigh pressed casually against Draco’s groin.

Harry whines his disapproval at this and turns to look at Draco.  He’s so close that Draco can see the flecks of gold in his eyes and the individual points of stubble on his chin. All of a sudden, Draco can’t breathe.

‘But if you go, who will make sure I get home in one piece?’ Harry asks and though his tone is jokey, the intensity of his gaze tells an entirely different story.

Draco thinks he should say no but he sighs his capitulation and takes possession of his new drink.  There is no good that can come of this situation but they’ve been dancing around this for months now and the dam has to break eventually.

If he thinks about it logically, a task which is becoming increasingly difficult, he thinks that maybe this could work out for the best. It could clear the air and make their partnership better. Of course, that theory only works if the only thing between then is sexual tension, if their feelings can be kept to the periphery, not something that is likely to be possible when one is completely in love.

Harry shifts in Draco’s lap once more; heat pools in his stomach and he bites his lip, closing his eyes for a moment and grasping at the tattered shreds of his composure.  When he opens them again, Harry is regarding him with a look that is both shrewd and cunning, and for a moment Draco is forced to reassess just which one of them really is drunker.  He had assumed it was Harry, but there is something in that expression which is calculating, and more than a little bit Slytherin.

The next moment, however, Harry has slung his free arm around Ron and they are singing the latest Weird Sisters song at an ear-splitting volume.

Perhaps he has it all wrong. Perhaps Harry actually is completely oblivious to Draco’s rising need.

***

Draco should always trust his instincts. They stumble from the bar just before midnight, Harry draping himself over Draco and huffing hot, whiskey-scented breath against his neck.  The hot, sunny day has turned into a sultry night but the gentle breeze is still a relief after the oppressive heat of the Leaky Cauldron. All around them are the friendly goodbyes and pops of their colleagues Disapparating and soon it is just the two of them left standing on the silent cobbles as Tom begins turning off the lights in the pub.

‘Your place or mine?’ Harry mumbles against Draco’s neck, the movement of his lips causing shivers that have nothing to do with the cool night to dance down his spine.

Knowing that he is completely lost, Draco pulls Harry tightly against him and Disapparates them both to his apartment.

Harry’s hands are everywhere, grasping, holding him close and sliding under the soft wool of his jumper as their mouths find and explore each other. Tongues slide together and Draco strokes his fingers over the rough points of stubble on Harry’s jaw, drawing him inexorably closer.

Hips snap together and Draco can feel Harry’s cock, hard and heavy as it presses against his thigh, and he fumbles desperately at the fastening on Harry’s jeans, pulling a gasp from him as Draco slides his hand over the heated flesh, while Harry kisses down Draco’s neck and along his collarbone with desperate open-mouthed kisses.

He feels the button on his trousers pop and hears it skitter across the hard wood floor, and then the fabric is being pushed away and Harry’s hand is wrapping around his heated cock. Draco groans in relief, allowing his head to fall onto Harry’s shoulder as he begins to stroke him.

They fall as one onto the bed and Harry rolls on top of him, pinning him to the cool sheets as he lowers his head and licks a broad stripe up the underside of Draco’s cock. Draco fists his hands into the sheets as he struggles to hold onto his control.

The soft, wet heat of Harry’s mouth is almost too much for Draco and he arches off the bed, unable to control the desire for more as his world is reduced down to single syllables. He can feel Harry’s smile as he pulls back slightly and presses Draco into the bed, rough thumbs dragging over sensitive hipbones, and Draco is wound tighter and tighter and he sinks his fingers into soft black hair and just holds on.

When Harry releases him, his hot, wet flesh is suddenly exposed to the cool night air and Draco lets out a small groan, but then Harry is shifting, moving up until he is straddling Draco’ s hips and looking down at him, smile crooked, as he trails his fingers over Draco’s ribs.

Without looking, Draco reaches out and rummages in the top drawer, finally locating the small jar and pressing it into Harry’s hand. Grinning now, Harry opens the jar, releasing the familiar woodsy smell and drizzling some of it into his hand before sliding it over Draco’s cock. Draco watches, lip caught between his teeth as Harry reaches behind himself and his head falls forward, eyes closed and mouth open as he fucks himself on his fingers.

The green eyes are back and the playful expression is gone, replaced by one of shear need as he guides Draco’s cock, sliding down onto him and surrounding Draco with pressure and heat. Draco’s eyes close for a moment as Harry pauses,  and he daren’t so much as breathe, and then Harry’s thumb slides over his jaw and he opens his eyes, staring into Harry’s as they start to move together.  Faster, harder, he grips Harry’s hips, snapping upwards to meet every downward thrust and Harry groans, falling forward as he begins to lose himself.  Releasing his hip, Draco closes his fist around Harry’s cock and keeps pace, speeding as his own climax begins to build. Harry cries out and spills over Draco’s hand, over his stomach and tipping him over the edge, his release flooding Draco’s own body with heat.

They lie tangled together, sticky and panting, until the chilly night air finally causes Harry to shiver.  Reluctantly, Harry rolls off and wriggles the sheets free, dragging them up and over them both and pulling Draco tight to his chest. He is asleep within moments, but Draco lies there for as long as he can, enjoying the press of Harry’s body against his and unwilling to submit to sleep, knowing that in the morning everything will change.

**

Draco wakes to the sound of the taps squeaking and the shower hissing and spluttering to life.  The room is still dark and he glances towards the window.  Outside, the sky hasn’t even started to lighten, dawn is still a long way off, and Harry is attempting to sneak out under the cover of darkness.

Regret twists in Draco’s gut as he realises the mistake he has made. It’s not that he doesn’t want Harry; he’s wanted him for almost as long as he can remember. The problem is that what he wants and what Harry wants are two entirely different things.

Draco loves Harry. That’s all there is to it. It hasn’t always been an easy thing to admit, he knows that. He has fought against it for as long as he possibly could, but giving in and accepting that he is in love with Harry has been such a relief. Compared to that, accepting the impossibility of any relationship has actually been quite easy.  They are colleagues, after all, and not just colleagues, but partners, friends... best friends, in fact.  And so what if the sexual tension between them has a tendency to make Draco feel as if he has swallowed a hyperactive eel? As long as he and Harry are friends, they are part of each other’s lives and he isn’t going to jeopardise that. Or, at least, that had been the plan before his inadequate self-control had come along and fucked everything up.

Certainly, in his more quixotic moments, he might imagine that he and Harry manage to get together, manage to have a relationship that rivals Ron and Hermione’s or Ginny’s and Blaise’s, but he knows that isn’t possible, because Harry is not a relationship kind of guy and there is plenty of evidence for that.

At least three times a week there is a photo of Harry in the Prophet. It’s always grainy, frequently blurry, but definitely Harry.  And the Harry in these photos is always surrounded by men.  Draco spends more time looking at these photos than he thinks he should, looking as the Harry in the picture loses himself to some unknown rhythm.

If it were just the Prophet then Draco might think there was still a chance; after all, who in their right mind would take the word of that scurrilous rag over that of their friend, but it isn’t just the Prophet, it’s the Ministry rumour mill as well. It’s the hushed conversations at the water cooler about just who Harry Potter was seen stumbling out of a club with the night before, and, worst of all, it’s the fact that Harry never refutes a single rumour.

Draco has never been able to do... that. He has always needed more, always needed the connection. It’s funny really, because at school everyone seemed to think that he was some sort of Lothario, but in reality, it’s just another way that he doesn’t want to be like his father.

The shower squeaks again as the water is turned off and Draco closes his eyes, trying to decide what to do. He could pretend to still be asleep, could roll over and bury his face in the pillow and allow Harry to slip out of the house and pretend that nothing has happened, but that would feel as though he was saying that he was happy to leave things like that, and he’s not. He’s not happy about it at all.

In a moment of ire, Draco flings back the covers and throws on a dressing gown as he stomps towards the kitchen to make coffee.  He’s probably going to regret this, but in for a Knut, in for a Galleon. Harry is going to have to tell him to his face that this is just a one night thing.

Draco keeps his back to the door when he finally hears Harry enter the kitchen and just focuses on the process of making the coffee, filling the space with the rich, bitter scent.

‘You’re awake,’ Harry says, and Draco has to bite back the sarcastic remark. It would be easy to become defensive, to fight, but he doesn’t want to give Harry an excuse when he walks out the door.

‘Yes, well, I thought after the amount you drank last night you might appreciate a cup of coffee before you go,’ Draco says and he knows as soon as he says it that he sounds petulant.

‘I really wasn’t all that drunk,’ Harry insists and then, almost interrupting himself: ‘Wait, you want me to go?’

Draco’s stomach drops because, fuck, he sounds hurt, and he is starting to fear that he might have made a horrible mistake.

‘You were having a shower,’ Draco says defensively, finally turning to look at Harry and gripping the counter behind him as the panic sets in.  He knows now that Harry had not been trying to sneak out, because he is pretty certain that, had that been his intention, he would have probably put some clothes on.

‘Draco, it’s twenty-five degrees outside. We spent all night in a sweaty little pub and then had some pretty energetic sex. I was having a shower because I felt gross, not because I was trying to sneak out of here,’ Harry insists and he sounds offended now.

Realising that he is, in fact, an idiot, Draco curses himself silently.

‘Do you want me to go?’ Harry asks, and he sounds small, uncertain, and Draco wants to reach out, to touch him but he doesn’t dare because if Harry pulls away from him now, he thinks he may just burst into tears.

‘No,’ Draco says and though his voice is barely above a whisper, he is firm.

‘Okay then,’ Harry says, and he takes a step closer. ‘Why did you think I would want to leave?’ he asks and Draco’s face heats.

‘Well,’ Draco begins and then he realises that there is no nice way of answering the question truthfully. ‘Because I thought that was just what you did?’

Harry just stares at him, disbelief all over his face.

‘Draco, we have been partners for five years now. Are you telling me that all this time you thought I was a libertine?’

Draco snorts with laughter. ‘A what?’ he asks.

‘It’s something Molly says; she says it to Charlie every time he comes home with a new girlfriend,’ Harry says, blushing sheepishly and giving Draco a small, lopsided smile that causes the laughter to catch in his throat. ‘But that isn’t answer. Is that really what you thought?’

‘Well, it isn’t like you’ve denied any of it. The Prophet is always showing you out at clubs with men and I know you go at least three times a week because you always have two double espressos first thing when you’ve been out.’

Harry looks mildly surprised by this but the surprise quickly gives way to disbelief, and he pulls himself onto one of the kitchen stools and leans heavily on the counter, head in his hands.

‘I can’t believe, after everything you’ve seen, after everything we’ve been through, you still believe a single word that is printed in the Prophet,’ Harry says.

‘I don’t normally,’ Draco snaps, suddenly defensive, ‘but this is different. I know you’re going there, I know you’re with those people. There are photos.’

‘Yes, I go out,’ Harry admits, ‘and yes, there are photos of me dancing with people, but that doesn’t mean I take them home and shag them, Draco, Jesus. I like to dance, that is it, it helps me blow off steam after work. A love of Donna Summer doesn’t make me a slut. I go to the clubs with George because he really is a tart and he doesn’t like to go alone.  But I go home alone, Draco, I always go home alone.’

‘Why?’ The question flies out of his mouth and immediately Draco wants to grab it and shove it back in, because what does it matter why? All this time, he has ignored the chemistry and attraction that have existed between them, has kept all his feelings locked away because he couldn’t cope with being just another fuck and it turns out that he has gotten the whole thing arse-backwards.

‘Why do you think, you fucking idiot? Because I love you,’ Harry says, the words exploding from him as though he’s been trying not to say them for an eternity.

‘Oh,’ Draco says. His head is suddenly full of white noise and he is not entirely certain he can still feel his feet because Harry Potter loves him.

‘Is that it?’ Harry asks and he looks so vulnerable.

‘I love you, too,’ Draco says, still unable to do anything but stare at Harry, at this man who he had decided was completely unobtainable and who has apparently been in love with him all along.  He doesn’t know what to do with that.

Luckily, Harry seems to know exactly what to do. He crosses the kitchen and presses his lips to Draco’s, one hand wrapping around his waist as the other reaches for his hand and pulls it from its death grip on the counter. As their fingers entwine, Draco reaches out with his free hand, weaving his fingers into Harry’s hair and pulling him closer, kissing him slowly and pouring every last pent-up emotion into the kiss. Not releasing him for a moment, Draco starts to edge Harry backwards, heading back towards the bedroom. After all, they still have a while until the sun comes up.

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